


Its cheap cheery soul

by LostinFic



Series: Any David Tennant character x Any Billie Piper character [5]
Category: Blackpool, Secret Diary of a Call Girl (TV)
Genre: Banter, Crossover, Crossover Pairings, F/M, Ficlet, Teninch Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-12
Updated: 2014-08-12
Packaged: 2018-02-12 22:29:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2126880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LostinFic/pseuds/LostinFic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt: "You look a bit lost"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Its cheap cheery soul

“Fucking Blackpool,” Hannah muttered.

She looked between the map she got at the train station and the street around her that looked like a haunted amusement park.

“I know right, tackiest place this side of the Atlantic, I hate it.”

Hannah turned to the man who had just walked up to her on the sidewalk. He smiled before stuffing a piece of pink cotton candy in his mouth. She shivered, the texture of that particular sweet never failed to make her cringe, like nails on a blackboard.

“You look a bit lost,” he said.

 “I’m looking for the Bellagio hotel.”

“It’s on my way, we’re almost there.”

“Almost there is not good enough in these shoes.”

Carlisle looked down her business suit and toned legs to a pair of vertiginous red stilettos.

“How do you walk in these?”

“It’s an art,” she replied, tossing a blonde fringe off her eye with a charming sway of her head.

 

He threw the remaining cotton candy in a nearby rubbish bin then took his car keys out of the pocket of his long black coat. He dangled them in front of her face.

“Is this good enough?”

She smiled and looped her arm through his. He guided her across the street to a police car.

“Are you arresting me?” she asked, her playful tone hiding a sudden anxiety.

“Getting paid for sex ain’t a criminal offence, paying for it is, you should know that. I’m Peter Carlisle, by the way,”

“Belle.”

“Sure you are.”

He opened the car door for her and once she was buckled in, he started driving down High street, passing by flashing arcade signs.

“He’s not gonna be there, the John, we have him in custody.”

Hannah squinted at him, trying to decipher if he was telling the truth. He couldn’t have been this fast, could he? How would he even know who the client was?

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she replied.

Carlisle snorted.

They drove two more blocks before coming to a halt in front of what must have been a luxurious hotel in the 80’s. Hannah looked out the window at the chipped pastel paint and gold columns that had long since lost their shine.

She looked at Carlisle who was clearly holding back a laugh, it dug cute dimples in his cheeks. She plastered a smile on her face and walked out the sedan. She was halfway up the steps when something made her turn around. Carlisle had rolled down the car window.

“Rooooooxanne! You don’t have to wear that dress tonight, walk the streets for money, you don’t care if it’s wrong or if it’s right.”

Hannah burst out laughing, she shook her head and entered the building.

 

When she walked out of the hotel half an hour later in a bad mood and flat shoes, she found Carlisle leaning against the hood of his car, eating chips out of brown paper.

“Told ya, he wouldn’t be there. Fancy a drink?” he asked.

“I fancy getting the hell out of here.”

“Tough, next train’s in two hours. C’mon lass!”

 

She followed him to a pub on the Promenade and chose a table at the back. They were the only patrons except for a few professional alcoholics at the bar. The sunlight betrayed the age of the place, revealing cigarette burns on the formica tables and beer stains on the white upholstery.

“Is this the best you can do?” she asked with disdain.

“There’s my hotel room but it’s not a date, I thought me not paying for your drink would indicate the unromantic nature of this meeting.”

She was starting to find him rather amusing. A few more hours in this town might not be so bad after all.

 

“So go on then, tell me how you knew who my client was.”

He explained that she was clearly expensive and this not being the touristic season, there weren’t many men in town who could afford her services. It just so happened that the man they had arrested wasn’t above cheating on his wife and paying for sex. He slid a picture of Ripley Holden across the table and asked if it was him, but it was her first appointment with this particular client.

 

“Could you do me a favor and tell me if he ever tries to contact you again?”

“No, I don’t do that,” Hannah replied.

“A prostitute with principles, that’s new.  Next thing you know, politicians won’t be corruptible anymore. Where is society headed?”

“Oh sod off! Confidentiality is paramount in my line of work, I take it very seriously.”

“Oh and I admire your dedication to protecting the identity of kinky bastards.”

“And I admire your dedication to make other people do your work for you.”

He smiled at her. This banter was entertaining to him. That was one way to pass the time, but she knew a better one. She ran a hand through her hair and leaned forward, preparing a flirty quip.

“I’m not asking for work,” Peter said, “I’m asking because I’m in love with his wife.”

Oh. She reclined in her seat. After a minute, she looked down at her watch, took a last sip from her drink and stood up.

“Already? I thought we were having a very enjoyable time.”

He stood up as well. She pulled on the lapel of his jacket and slipped her business card in his breast pocket.

“Call me, if it doesn’t work with his wife.”

“I will!”


End file.
